


Stargazer lilies

by TripleLutz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam-Centric, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon compliant until S6, Chronic Illness, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, a very different take on Adam's fate than the one taken in s7, no gay dies on my watch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TripleLutz/pseuds/TripleLutz
Summary: "The thing with parentheses, though, is that they must end somewhere."Adam-centric, from his and Shiro's first kiss to everything that happened after the Kerberos mission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fanfic in a long time, and my first ever about Voltron~ The news about Shiro being canon LGBTQ+ rep warmed my tiny queer heart ☆
> 
> English is not my native language, so my apologies in advance for any typo or grammatical error. This story started as a short OS and ended up... what you have here. I wanted to post is before S7 starts, and oooh dear, have I lost a lot of hours of sleep... but perhaps it was worth it!  
> (Edit: the 1st chapter was written before S7, but the 2nd right after it was out. As you can guess, I caught Feelings™.)
> 
> I hope you'll like it! (o_ _)o It's been a difficult but very exciting challenge to flesh out and give nuances to Adam based on how very little we know about him so far! (That is, for me, official interviews and a one minute clip on YouTube.) Please pretty please, if you have time, I'd love to read your thoughts and comments about this story! ღ  
> 

 

The first time Shiro kisses him, a spark of static electricity bursts at the exact point where their lips touch. Adam thinks it’s a sign. There isn’t much room for superstition in his life; it’s all calculations, pragmatism, authority tree, and anticipating wars.

But with Shiro, it's different. Softer. It’s everything else. It’s a parenthesis.

 

* * *

 

The thing with parentheses, though, is that they must end somewhere. They never just stay open.

Adam tries his hardest to forget about this. To ignore. He tries to focus on the present alone, on the work he must do, on Shiro’s tender smile, on the way time stands still every minute they spend in each other’s shadow. He tries to memorise Shiro’s rhythm, the beat of his heart, the weight of his steps, the pitch of his voice. He knows that these things are here, right _here_ , so he shouldn’t _have_ to memorise them; but the idea of a closing bracket gradually scares him more than he ever thought it would.

Two months after their first kiss, Shiro confesses that he feels anchored in the universe for the first time and says that it is in part thanks to their quiet relationship, so Adam finally starts to believe that maybe they could ditch the brackets and become a whole book instead.

 

* * *

 

It’s a secret at first, but gradually, people understand that the young men are boyfriends. Adam doesn’t mind it much. Shiro shows some annoyance about it in the beginning, especially when higher-ranked officials ask them not to let it derail their work — as if it ever would. Eventually, to everyone’s relief, things calm down and the talks stop.

 

* * *

 

Being in love with Shiro is an adventure in itself. The man is adored by so many people and for so many reasons, it’s almost dizzying sometimes. Adam cannot help but watch and listen closely when someone mentions his boyfriend within earshot. It’s not jealousy — at least he doesn’t think it is; he’s been jealous before, and it felt very different.

Adam is _proud_ of Shiro. He rejoices in people seeing how kind and strong and funny and clever the man is, how sharply his skills have been polished, how steady and selfless his motivations are. While Adam recognises and calls out Shiro’s shortcomings, they pale in comparison of the genuine goodness of his heart. For this and for the hard work Shiro has put in to become a legendary pilot and a positive influence on the people around him, Adam firmly believes that Shiro fully deserves the admiration he receives.

This is the reason why he regularly tells Shiro as much. Not in such extensive terms, of course, because he doesn’t want to sound like he’s overdoing it or lying. Adam has always been more one for effective approaches over long tirades anyway, so every so often, he tells Shiro: “You’re a good man. I love you.” Shiro always blushes and smiles, whispers some soft reply that Adam wishes to forever remember, and then their day goes on as usual.

Until, one night, Shiro stops replying. He still smiles, still blushes, but he stops engaging. Nothing else in their routine changes, so Adam tries not to worry too much. He theorises that Shiro might just need some space for a while, or maybe that he’s tired of hearing too often about how amazing he is. With no red flag in sight, their lives simply carry on.

Six months after their first kiss, Shiro wakes Adam up in the middle of the night, asks him to sit up, then calmly tells him: “I’m sick, Adam,” before he starts to cry.

Adam doesn’t think he’s ever felt this powerless. He holds Shiro against his chest, in silence, and lets him sob for a while. He gets the details the next day and his heart breaks for the man. He swears to himself: “Where he needs me to be, I’ll be.” He researches Shiro’s illness and tries to become as hands-on and supportive as he can, all of this without making Shiro feel like he’s not able to do it alone. It takes about three month and some trials and errors but ultimately, they adjust, vow to nurture hope, and carry on.

 

* * *

 

 

Days shy of the one-year anniversary of their first kiss, Adam and Shiro propose to each other almost at the same time, without rings, under a meteor shower. They mutually decide not to tell anyone. It is a promise and a lucky charm more than plans of an actual wedding and marriage, perhaps something for them to cherish in private.

Missions come and go, and for months after the scare that pushed him to reveal his medical affliction to Adam, Shiro doesn’t show any sign of fatigue or ineptitude to fly — quite the contrary, as usual. He doesn’t hide his slowly but steadily declining lab results from the Garrison or from Adam, but doesn’t really engage in conversations about it, either. It’s worrisome in a way, like a form of denial.

Adam has no idea how to approach the subject, so he doesn’t, most of the time. On the occasion that he presses Shiro about it, he gets answers, but he knows not to abuse this prying, for his love looks exhausted, angry and hurt afterwards. They talk about what matters, the crucial details. It is almost enough for a mutual understanding and will have to make do for now.

  

* * *

 

 

Adam has nightmares, sometimes, things he’d like to forget that comes by haunting him at night. It comes and goes with the seasons, some much better than others, the worst usually limited to random bouts of difficult weeks.

After a long streak of quiet days, things take a bit of a bad turn toward the fifteenth month into his and Shiro’s relationship.

When Adam is alone, it’s harder. He feels prisoner of things he can fight alone but would rather not have to, for it’s difficult to function the next day. Thankfully, when Shiro is here, things become easier, for all instantly becomes calm when Adam abandons himself in the man’s arms, against this strong chest, listening to words of comfort. He is either quick to come back to sleep or a bit more willing to face the day, both things he’s grateful for and cherishes while they last.

Shiro is always kind and patient with him when it happens. He checks on him more often during the next few days as well, caring as usual, strong when Adam can’t be. After some time, he even starts to share feelings and fears more often, and the couple only gets closer as it goes. They still don’t talk diagnosis often enough, even after the nightmares make themselves scarce again, however Adam realises, in time, that he’s not really upset about it as such. He wants to live a little in the moment, too, sometimes. He knows that Shiro wants this too. The world can wait another cry.

  

* * *

 

 

When Keith first joined the Garrison and its pilot training program, Shiro joked: “here comes trouble.” Adam believed him then and is horrified by this truth now.

In the year and a half he has been with Shiro, thus more than thrice the time Keith has spent at the Garrison so far, Adam has seen his boyfriend come to the rescue of a student in trouble a grand total of sixteen times. Thirteen of these were for Keith.

Adam is getting tired of this. It’s not that he dislikes the boy, no; Keith is, in fact, one of the best recruits the Garrison ever had, a great pilot already and by all account a strong mind. He also has a good heart and, encouraged by Shiro, always takes accountability for his actions, working on his behaviour and making amends when he can. So, no, it’s not about the kid. It’s not about the fact that Shiro is busier now that Keith entered the picture, either.

It’s just that Adam thinks about the illness a lot. When he wakes up, when he eats, when he goes to sleep. When he waits for Shiro to come back from the hospital and hopes in vain for better news about a degenerative curse.

And maybe it’s weird, but in Adam’s head, Shiro and the illness are two separate things, separate fates, separate _bodies_ even. They don’t exist as one, at least _not yet_ , hopefully not for a long time.

Adam doesn’t know how, where, or for how long Keith and his antics can fit between these entities. He wonders whether he himself can still fit _anyhow, anywhere, any longer_ as well. He wants nothing more than to stay, but there is so much energy spent on Shiro’s part to juggle it all, it is unlikely this can go on for long.

(And yet, somehow, it does.) 

 

* * *

 

 

Right after Keith’s sixteenth birthday, Adam starts to believe that maybe everything will be easier than they once thought it would be, like he’s daring to pretend that Shiro’s degenerative state could magically improve and remain perfect forever.

But of course, as if on cue, Shiro’s health weakens toward the end of the winter, close to his twenty-third birthday; so much so that, for the first time, he is officially suspended from his duties for a minimum of two weeks and until the hospital gives him the all clear to come back.

The man is _furious_. There’s a lot of hurt and tears on his face, that night, when Adam finds him in his room. They fight loud enough for the first time, with Adam arguing that it is a sign that Shiro should slow down, while Shiro strongly opposes any lightened schedule or anything of the sort. That’s when Adam knows that he is going to lose this fight over and over again, until Shiro goes so far, he will either burn himself too much or more or less damage their relationship.

Adam doesn’t know if he can do this anymore, if it’s his fault, if they’re just not meant to be long-term. He hates every single thought he has after that fight, and although they make up from it, all he wants to do is beg Shiro to stop, to rest, to fight other fights than those he’s set up to lose while Adam and Keith watch and can’t do anything to help him.

Believable reasons are given around the Garrison to explain the pilot’s brief absence (“ _he’s touring schools, he’s busy_ ”), so the students — except Keith — don’t question the situation. Shiro is admitted in the hospital and tests reveal that it is time for him to switch meds.

Rumours of a future mission on Kerberos emerge not even a day after Shiro is officially deemed fit for duty again.

  

* * *

 

 

Adam regularly loses sight of his place in this story at this point, and when it happens, he fights with Shiro over petty things for days and locks himself out of meaningful conversations.

He refuses at first to admit that he is simply _terrified_ , afraid to lose his boyfriend to one involuntary bad manoeuvre during a flight. He also feels devastated at the idea of inevitably seeing Shiro wither and die, for nothing right now looks more alive than this man, and Adam isn’t sure he has any coping skills in store that could help him deal with this part of what they’re going through. And, finally, he feels defeated at the conflicting ideas that he’s not enough for Shiro, not supporting enough, not strong enough to carry them both, while on the other hand Shiro is not doing enough effort to understand his point of view, to see what it means for Adam to have no power from the side lines.

When he tells Shiro about all of this at last, three days after the pilot broke yet another flying record as a way to prove himself again, Adam hates that it sounds like he is blaming _him_ , when he’s really not. He is blaming _life_. He knows it’s silly to be angry at what he can’t change, but maybe he’s tired too and he loves Shiro so damn much, he can’t bear the thought of losing him — no matter how.

Shiro hears his fears once more. He comforts him, and in turn, Adam demands and gets from Iverson two days and a night off for them, which they use to make memories on a like hiking trail and in an isolated inn. When they’re back from their quick retreat, they feel a bit more in sync. They’re however still not under the illusion that space and flying have magically taken a backseat in their decision-making, be it individual or common. It still comes above everything.

Adam is surprised to find that maybe, in the end, he is ready to accept that.

 

* * *

 

 

Details of the mission on Kerberos are disclosed to a small selection of people in the summer. That’s how Shiro knows them well before the others do.

Adam isn’t sure how much they talk — or rather fight — about this, the following weeks. A lot, that’s for sure. Of course, Shiro wants to go. _Everyone_ here wants to go. No one has ever gone that far, nor has ever been talented enough to. Cherry on the cake, Samuel Holt is a legend and someone they all wish to work closely with on day. It’s a great honour and everything Shiro has been working for since the very beginning, since before he joined the Garrison, all these years of sacrifice and a resounding ‘ _fuck you_ ’ to the illness attacking him.

That’s why Adam doesn’t, _cannot_ fit in this equation. If Shiro leaves for Kerberos, then by the time he’ll be back and assuming he _does_ come back, it might be too late to properly live as a couple, lest they abandon everything and start again, elsewhere, through other dreams, almost from scratch. Shiro is unlikely to be able or willing to do that. Adam is numb at the idea, for if space is Shiro’s dream, it is also _Adam’s_ , regardless of how often this part of the deal gets ignored.

And Shiro _knows_ this, knows that he can only have one side of the coin. He’s made his choice. Adam feels rejected and worthless, something he knows is not entirely true because _Shiro loves him_ and he loves Shiro back. There’s a part of him who is unbelievably happy for Shiro and even prouder of him than before, if possible, however another part, more insidious, oscillates between a grief and a despair so loud, it silences everything else. Adam feels like he’s being choked. Like he’s going to die.

Making matters worse and their fights louder sometimes, Adam also has no choice but to side with Iverson on a practical level, agreeing that it might be too dangerous if _Shiro_ is the one pilot to go. The mission is, of course, dangerous at its core. Kerberos is very far from Earth and the crew is using a brand-new type of spaceship for a travel that it is believes will last at least half a year total, with nothing else but the hope that no accident will happen at any point of the journey or that resources will not run out earlier than planned.

But Shiro might also be a wild card, on top of that. After all, who knows how his illness will progress in space, if his meds will be enough, if there won’t be another scare, if he will always be able to operate the new spaceship. While the Holts know how to pilot some spaceships, they’re not as good as him for this. There’s a general safety component here as well as a more personal one, something over which Adam loses faith and sleep.

Still, Shiro is cleared to go. His medical team, despite initial reserve, sides with his cause in the end. Iverson is fuming. Keith is simultaneously excited and worried sick, staying supportive as always.

Adam’s emotions are all over the place.

After the ship leaves, sadness overcomes him. He regrets that he gave an ultimatum to Shiro and that they never discussed this afterward, so he’d have had the opportunity to apologise and take it back. He hates that he couldn’t add anything but ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ when they kissed goodbye this morning — maybe for the last time, the _final bracket_ here. He isn’t sure Shiro managed to read on his lips the ‘ _I love you_ ’ he whispered from the deck, forty good feet from the entrance of the ship, right as the door started to close and Shiro was waving Keith and him farewell.

There was so much more Adam wished to say but words stopped making sense at some point, and those that still meant something remained stuck in his throat, never to be heard.

He doesn’t know if Shiro and him are broken up. He guesses he has to take care of Shiro’s plants now. They never discussed the plants — Adam isn’t really sure why.

And he isn’t sure that Shiro knows that Adam loves him. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the chance to tell him so again. He doesn’t know if Shiro believed him when he said he wouldn’t be here when the ship comes back, doesn’t even know _if he_ _will_ be here when the ship comes back, and doesn’t know what it says about him that he cannot immediately tell himself: “I’ll be here.” He doesn’t _know_.

He is angry.

He is _so_ angry.

He wants to disappear.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t disappear. Some things do, but he remains here. ‘ _Here_ ’ is a bit outside the world now, three steps away, enough to feel numb. He doesn’t speak Shiro’s name anymore, and when others at the Garrison do, he convinces himself that he has forgotten who the man was. Is. Might not be for much longer.

It’s been a couple of weeks now, but he is still angry. With Shiro, with himself. Mostly with himself. He is angry most of the time and when he is surprisingly not angry, he cries. He doesn’t know what is worse.

He constantly blames himself for not being good enough a pilot to be considered an acceptable substitute for Shiro. It’s ridiculous, of course, because no one has ever been competition for the man. Even with his body slowly failing, he’s still better than everybody else. It would take years of intense training for Adam to reach a similar skill level — not that he’s given up on this, but lately, he is losing focus, rationality, and grit.

He is losing Keith too. They rarely see each other on the training ground to begin with, since their schedules don’t match, but now they’re not even contacting each other at all. Every time Adam tries to compose a message, he ends up giving up. What would it even say? It’s like Shiro was all the link he had to Keith, despite the birthdays and the new year’s eves and that one time when Shiro was thousands of miles above ground so the nurses called Adam in his place to come calm Keith down from a panic attack.

His guilt and shame are immense. He is paralysed and torn, with no idea where to turn. When Iverson comes to the officers’ break room one morning and asks for volunteers for a month-long mission off-Earth, Adam is quick to jump on the occasion. He figures that a change of air will help him take a step back, clear his thoughts a bit. Watching the Earth rather than the stars is always a nice temporary change of scenery. Non-military communications are cut during the flight, which adds to the peace brought by needing to be focused on work at all time. Everything goes smoothly while Adam is there. He even reconnects with some friends he had shut off a bit since Shiro left, and it’s making him feel a bit calmer, more supported.

 

When the mission is over and Adam comes back to the base, one of his old classmates comes to him the next day to informs him that Keith has been suspended from training for two weeks. This apparently happened following several altercations with two peers and one instructor, then with Professor Montgomery herself. Adam can hear his heart beat faster at the news, between frustration and worry. He doesn’t think he can let this go. Suspensions are rare for students since it’s not the most productive course of action for the Garrison, so a suspension this long is nothing but the last step before Keith could get expelled. Maybe he doesn’t take this seriously. (Maybe he’s lonely and angry.)

Adam immediately start to search the base and finds Keith in one of the common rooms, moping the floor since cleaning duties are an additional part of his punishment. Adam has the authority to relieve him from it a bit earlier, so he does. They don’t exchange many words as they take seats by the coffee machine, in a corner of the room. Adam pays for Keith’s hot cocoa and gets a double-expresso for himself. They’re alone here, which is perfect, because he knows that he’ll have to maybe yell a little — if only out of fear. Keith looks gradually shut down from a conversation mood, so Adam loses no time to dive into it.

“You _have_ to behave,” he warns. “Keith, this isn’t a game. You’ll get expelled, at this rate, and what will you tell Shiro then?”

As usual, Keith averts his eyes. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“And yet you’ll damn well be given one!”

Adam never really raised his voice at the kid before. It shocks them both a little to discovers that he _can_. Keith actually looks apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Adam sighs. “That’s not enough.” He pauses for a moment, searching for the right words. He doesn’t want to lose Keith, but he can’t be too soft with him either. It’s a tough balance to find. “Look, I worry about you. I know it’s hard. I miss Shiro too.” At this, Keith looks up. Adam nods, then goes on: “Still, you _must_ control this anger. You need to go see your counsellor again and work on this the way you once did. You did _great_ back then. You can do it again. The instructors can’t deal with you in this capacity anymore, you know this. You’re walking a thin line. I suggest you accept every helping thread at hand. Do you understand?”

Keith looks like a kicked puppy, if a kicked puppy also looked somewhat threatening with a hot cocoa in hand. Adam can tell he’s touched the right nerves, those that will make Keith think and hopefully ask for the help he needs and can get. If need be, the officer plans to drag the boy to the counselor himself, with a bit of official push from the Garrison’s nursing station. He doesn’t think this will be necessary, though.

“Keith?”

“I understand.”

“Great.”

They drink in silence for a while, only bothered by the sound of people chatting and walking in the hallway from time to time. At some point, Keith moves in his seat, locks eyes with Adam, then asks:

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Adam feels the panic rising. He’s not sure he has a good answer for that, or that the answers he has would not sadden or anger Keith further. He hates to have to lie, but it’s what he goes with for now.

“I’m not. I was in space, I have work to do. And you have to study.”

Keith doesn’t believe him. It’s written all over his face. He looks disappointed, too. Adam can’t blame him for this.

“Keith…” he sighs, “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to tell you.”

“Well _I’m fine_ ,” the boy snaps. “Thanks for asking.”

Adam can’t hide a small smirk, a reaction of pure nostalgia. Always the fiery one, this boy. At least now it’s more obvious what Keith wants and expects and maybe needs from Adam, so it makes things a bit easier. Adam can handle what is asked of him.

“Alright — I hear you. I do. I’ll ask you every day. You won’t have to always answer if you don’t want to, it’s up to you. But I’ll ask.”

Keith seems a bit doubtful, but in the end, he nods. They part soon afterwards when a loud group of students enter the room, making them both a bit uncomfortable.

Adam keeps his part of the deal. Every morning, he texts Keith a simple ‘ _how are you?_ ’, to which he receives passive replies most of the time. Once, Keith texts back: “I miss Shiro. The counsellor told me to tell you,” so Adam takes him back to the common room, offers him a hot cocoa again, and they talk about it in half-words for a while. Later, Keith takes to text him at night when he has trouble sleeping. Adam is too overworked to stay awake this late, and as such usually don’t reply to these. Keith however seems to always recover somewhat quickly from his setbacks. He doesn’t get in trouble anymore, if anything.

Adam counts all of these things as small wins. He finally starts to feel some form of peace in his new, busy routine.

Until he comes to know a secret that completely turns his and the Garrison’s shared world upside-down.

 

* * *

 

 

Five months after the crew left, the public is informed that the Kerberos mission is a failure and that the ship got lost following a _pilot error_ several weeks ago, killing the crew in the process.

Adam has to hold onto students’ arms so not to entirely collapse in the middle of his ship maintenance class.

He isn’t shocked, no. He is _enraged_.

He doesn’t believe this report and has very good reasons not to.

It starts with ‘ _pilot error_ ’. Now, that doesn’t sound right. Adam cannot believe they would go with this cause above all, or rather he can believe this, but it still makes him bleed they would. He admits that he used to fear something like this could happen, unsure of Shiro’s sustained physical state in space. It’s also a very believable excuse for who knows of the man’s affliction — truly a convenient culprit.

It sounds like a protective thing from Adam, an emotional response, however the true reason why he doesn’t believe this bullshit is as levelled and practical as they come. Unbeknownst to Iverson who has been busy pulling double-duty since Holt left for Kerberos, Adam has spent these five months calling in old favours from his peers in order to be allowed in the command room often enough to closely monitor the mission.

That is how he knows the ship landed safely on Kerberos ten weeks after they departed, and that on the last day the Garrison made contact, two months prior, Sam Holt informed them that it would take at least one more week to collect samples, given that the mission was more successful than they thought it would be and that their remaining resources safely allowed this timeframe. This communication also confirmed that daily logs would be recorded as usual and sent out automatically until the ship left back for Earth, after which more frequent contact would be maintained until safe return.

Only this last part, the logs attest, simply _never_ _happened_.

It’s been two very long months for Adam, between prayers and numbness and overworking himself and hiding what he knows from Keith and never really dealing with a grief he just can’t overcome, because Shiro never piloted the crew back home and thus _never crashed nor lost the fucking ship_ , leaving every question unanswered. Where is he? What if aliens got him? Would it be worse if he were being experimented on or if he were killed, in this scenario? What if he’s actually dead, for another reason? Why have the ship itself shut down? Where are the Holts?

Adam can’t accept an explanation without proof — or maybe he _usually_ can, but not when it comes to Shiro. There just isn’t enough to go with. No satellite in the solar system has picked up any sign of the crew since a whole week before the ship’s disappearance, between outdated material and far-off distance. Plans of a rescue mission were shut down as soon as they were brought on the table.

Adam cuts his class short and locks himself in his room for the rest of the day. He is so angry his body turns against him, making him sick. Three friends of his stop by with sleeping bags and decree a sleepover in his room, in the evening, forming a support group of sort. They’re welcome on the spot.

One of these friends knows what Adam knows, but seems to adhere to the death theory. Although Adam can’t really blame him for wanting closure, it somehow feels like they’re standing on opposite sides of a war — what is truth, what is right, who to trust. Before he passes out for the night, long after the others do, he wonders who else might one day stand in his way, and who will stand by his side.

 

* * *

 

 

Something has changed within him by the time morning comes. He feels a different kind of betrayed, this time around, and from this, a resolution blooms. As soon as his friends up and leave to tend to their duties, he pounces into action.

The first step is to find Keith.

The news of the crew’s supposed collective death has of course sent the whole Garrison on a spin. In the twenty-eight hours of chaos following it, Adam has been so focused on ditching his duties, processing his anger and rationalising with himself, that he hasn’t found the energy to make sure that _anyone_ else was doing okay enough. He makes a mental note to correct this behaviour before the next catastrophe. He isn’t sure what to tell Keith, whether it should be the truth or some generic grief counselling. He has to see him anyway, maybe try to get him out of bed since it’s where he spent all his time since the news broke out.

To Adam’s surprise, though, Keith isn’t in his room when he gets there. For added shock, the place is almost empty. Keith has either left or perhaps is about to leave. A quick check on his watch tells Adam that Shiro’s astro-cycle is still parked in its usual place, in the usual hangar, so that’s where he instinctively goes next.

Keith is there indeed, securing his bags on the back of this sweet ride. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days and is definitely leaving. Adam experiences sad and mixed emotions about this. He’d support Keith leaving because the Garrison could be toxic and too much to handle for him in the present circumstances. He wants Keith to stay and complete his education, do something of his life with his amazing piloting talents. He isn’t sure what Shiro would have to say about this.

There’s only them two in this wide space at this time, so Adam walks closer to Keith, unbothered to be found. “I guess you _are_ leaving,” he muses. “You could have told me.”

“Why would I tell you _anything_ , Adam? Not like _you_ told me that the Kerberos mission was lost.”

Adam doesn’t answer. Keith seems to assume that every officer was aware of the state of the mission, which turns out to be accidentally true for Adam’s, so there’s no need denying this. It’s not like they had the time to address the full story here and now. Watching as the teenager avoids looking at him a double-checks a harness, Adam is pondering the dilemma of the day.

Should he tell him the truth about the missing Kerberos crew? Should he force him to stay? Clearly his authority at the Garrison doesn’t mean much to the boy anymore, if it ever did. He is only worried that isolation and loneliness could hurt Keith all too deep. He doesn’t want him to fall prey to delusion and never-ending grief.

But it’s not like Adam doesn’t know Keith well by now. They’ve been in each other’s lives for _years_ , after all. He knows that the boy won’t give up. He’ll try and try and try again, until the end. It’s unlikely that he believes that Shiro is dead, because he’s a stubborn one and won’t be satisfied with the meagre evidence the Garrison has. 

Adam can’t stop him. He can try and fail, but that is all. He realises now that the Keith’s scope of action, if he leaves, could be very different from the one Adam can have in this story, however just as critical to find and defend the truth.

And maybe it’s because of this or because rage and hope have mixed in a dangerous way in Adam’s mind, but in the end, he decides that the right thing to do is to tell Keith what he knows and to let the boy choose his own journey afterwards.

“Takashi didn’t crash the ship. There’s no record of them leaving Kerberos, or even gearing up to return. Nobody — _nothing_ — has been found.”

Keith stops what he is doing to stand up straight and look Adam straight in the eye. At first, the man wonders if he said the words loud enough. Camera feeds in the hangars normally don’t capture sounds and tend not to have a very accurate image, but he prefers to be cautious; it’s delicate information. (It’s _treason_.)

“But the crew _is_ missing,” he clarifies. “They really are. We haven’t heard from them in a _very_ long time.”

“So, they could be alive.”

Keith talks low, too. He probably understands that discretion is crucial.

Adam sighs. “We don’t know that. There’s little evidence of… of anything, or not enough. All we can attest is that the logs stopped before the crew even started to talk about the journey back, and that no satellite around this Solar system has been able to pick up their signal for nine weeks now. We just really don’t know where they are.”

“It doesn’t matter _where_!” Keith whisper-shouts as he drops one of the bags on the floor. “If Shiro is alive, then I’m going after him. I’ll bring him back.”

“How? _If_ he’s alive, then he’s in space. You’ll need a spaceship.”

“I need to _find him_. Find what made him disappear. The spaceship can wait.”

“What about graduation?”

Adam doesn’t know why he tries. Maybe it’s because Shiro wanted him to graduate, so now he is the one annoying the kid with this at this almost stupidly inappropriate time. Keith seems to agree this is simply unnecessary.

“Who cares about that now?” he snaps. “You just told me the Garrison can’t be trusted not to lie.”

“They can’t be. And of course they lie. They’re military, sometimes they have to — they _choose —_ to lie. They don’t want to alarm people about the possibilities implied by the ship’s disappearance. ‘ _Death_ ’ and ‘ _pilot error_ ’ rewrite the narrative and decrease the chance of people theorising that the crew has been abducted or attacked, or that perhaps the ship wasn’t built well enough for the task. It can give closure to families, too.”

“To _hell_ with that!” Keith is shaking, his voice venom and spite now. “They said Shiro is to blame. They can’t be trusted. It isn’t _right_.”

If anything positive is to come out of this exchange, it’s how proud Adam is to hear Keith say that. He doesn’t have time to celebrate, though, as the next thing the teenager says is nothing less than an attack:

“Says a lot about you that you know and accept how these things go. I’m sure _you_ will stay here.”

Adam is hurt by what is implied. “It’s _not_ _so simple_ , Keith.”

“You tell yourself that.” The boy has never looked so angry, and that is saying something. Before Adam can try to comfort him and help him calm down, Keith shoots his last bullet: “Maybe I expected too much, thinking you’d still care about him.”

“Take this back.”

Adam didn’t think before he answered. He didn’t have to. It’s his turn to feel angry and profoundly insulted, a feeling so violent he can see the fear on Keith’s face. He doesn’t want Keith to fear him, of course, but he has no problem openly showing the hurt this attack caused. So he slowly repeats, his voice firmer with each word:

“Take this back, Keith, I mean it. You don’t know shit. About Shiro and me — you know _nothing_. You weren’t here when it started and you don’t know how I feel now. Take it back.”

Adam doesn’t know if it’s sadness or anger that makes him want to cry so bad. Keith, in front of him, looks apologetic despite his lingering rage.

“I’m sorry,” he says; and then, after a silence: “But I’m still leaving, Adam. I _have_ to. Shiro is out there.”

“I know.” Adam isn’t sure what his answer refers to. He knows Keith is going to leave — this is unavoidable. He knows Shiro _could_ be out there. He hopes he is. Sighing, he pats the astro-cycle, on which Keith just finished to secure his belongings. “Please don’t crash it, okay? He liked this one a lot. And he always trusted you. Now I need you to trust _me_ about one last piece of advice.”

“What is that?”

“You will want to formally quit the program, as soon as you can, so no one will come looking for you. If you’re still a student, no one will be be happy to know you left for the day, but they’ll be able to get over it if you come back by curfew tonight. Not coming back, like you intend, would make you a runaway and hold the Garrison responsible for your disappearance. As long as you don’t officially tell them you’re leaving, on official paper and all, they’ll hunt you down.”

Keith frowns. “So I just need to tell ‘ _I quit_ ’ to Montgomery or Iverson?”

“Either or both, yes. And then fill out paperwork. They’ll probably give you a bit of a hard time, but…” Adam shrugs. “If you miss us in the future, you could always come back by repassing some of the tests. You’re our best student here, after all.”

“I won’t want to come back.”

Adam nods, taking in Keith’s blush and glossy eyes. They both are in a bad place. Adam regrets they can’t stay close.

They stay silent for a while, Keith checking the harnesses again, Adam making sure the astro-cycle has enough power to travel for a while. It’s hard to say goodbye.

“I’ll keep an eye on things here,” Adam finally tells Keith. “Back up the truth.”

The boy looks a bit sheepish all of a sudden. He probably hadn’t considered this corner of the battlefield, blinded by grief. Adam can’t help but smile fondly at him.

“Good luck, Keith. You know how to contact me, so if you ever need to…”

The teen acquiesces but doesn’t vocally reply. Thirty seconds later, he’s gone, and Adam is alone.

In the afternoon, Iverson questions Adams about his meeting with Keith that the cameras picked up in the hangar, right before the teen decided to ditch the whole base. ‘ _Piss-poor grief counselling_ ’ is the only answer Adam gives, which seems satisfactory enough, as the conversation stops here.

Right before curfew that day, Keith is already back. Adam so happens to be in the same room thank other officers when the teen marches to Iverson, kicks him in the knee, then punches him in the eye. Adam doesn’t know if he is more amused or mortified. Keith is officially and permanently expelled on the spot, and from then on, for him and Adam, a new era is dawning.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, Adam believes in Keith. Sure he knows it is in his best interests to let it go, to accept the lie that Shiro is dead, and to grieve. He knows this _rationally_ ; but he still has some hope in stock.

He carries on with his work, gets good results from his students, turns in perfect reports, and somehow manages to get promoted one rank higher. He makes a deliberate point to stay away from the communication rooms at all time. He figures he has to build enough trust to be able to betray it as soon as he suspects the Garrison might be hiding crucial details again, especially if these are about a rescue mission to Kerberos. Iverson always seems a bit doubtful around him now, making his task harder.

As working this invisible form of resistance is a long and unexciting process, Adam must relearn patience. He keeps himself alert with the thought that if there is an emergency and it is the alien kind, he is certain that he will be called. All the well-ranking officers will. And if Keith finds something, then maybe he will call. (He doesn’t call.)

A few weeks into this routine and at first only pushed by the wish to avoid constant worry from his friends, Adam makes the decision to start casually dating again. It’s very awkward at first. He barely remembers anything of his love life before Shiro, of the ‘ _do_ ’s and the ‘ _don’t_ ’ or simply how to hold a man. It takes some unfulfilling dates and starting to look for people who look nothing like Shiro and who live very, very far, to bring him back on somewhat good tracks.

He comes to enjoy this monthly or bimonthly break. He can’t really explain why. It’s not about needing to get physical or creating long-lasting feelings, but it lifts him up from within. Maybe this is who he is now. Maybe he’s become someone else. Maybe he still loves Shiro. Maybe he’ll _always_ love Shiro, flaws and all, missing and whatnot. Maybe he feels lonely, even when he’s not alone. Maybe he’s just trying to survive.

Maybe he does what he wants.

 

* * *

 

 

But the universe, Adam finds, also always does no more no less than what it wants.

About a year after the Kerberos crew was declared dead and just as Adam resigns himself to think that this is truly over and settles on a path of grief, Shiro crashes an odd ship right by the Garrison doors and is immediately taken in emergency custody when an alien artefact is found attached to his body.

When this happens, Adam is out nearby, alone, looking at the stars. As soon as he sees this mess, he just _knows_ it’s Shiro.

Although he is fast to run towards the makeshift tent where the Garrison is keeping his former lover, explosions are heard right before he reaches it, creating a turmoil that prevents him to go further. Seconds later, before Adam’s eyes, Shiro is whisked away by Keith and a bunch of other students with whom he disappears in space the very next day, in a giant lion-shaped flying machine. A space fight is then picked up by nearby radars, but every signal is quickly lost afterwards.

Adam can’t help but believe that there’s a cosmic curse out to get him, and that Shiro stands before it all.

 

* * *

 

 

In the days following the crash, Adam spends most of his time ignoring his conflicted emotions and starts to quietly gather information about what the Garrison knows about it and about Shiro. Professor Montgomery, stuck in the hospital due to an unfortunate accident during the chase after the runaway students, is the one filling in most of Adam’s knowledge gaps about what went down that night. The morphine helps this lightness of tongue.

Apparently Shiro has _an alien, metal right arm_ now.

Still, Adam needs to know more; but there’s just not enough things to find. The ship Shiro came in is made of a technology Earth is unable to identify or replicate, making local scientists torn between excitement and defeatism.

Meanwhile, back at the main base, the student body is vibrating with theories and conspiracies galore. It _somehow_ leaks (because _Adam_ leaks it) that it very likely it was Shiro on the ship, so the students and the few officers who believed him absolutely dead are delighted to learn the news. As quickly as they accepted his supposed death, they now embrace his supposed life. The disappearance of four students also adds something else to worry and gossip about.

In parallel, if all of these wasn’t enough, the involvement of various branches of the allied government, in a global response to the crash, quickly becomes much more invasive than they usually are.

These ramifications keep Iverson and Montgomery busy enough for weeks to leave Adam mostly alone. He is interrogated once about whether Shiro contacted him in any way between the ship’s disappearance and the crash. He is released within an hour since the truth is a simple ‘ _no’_ that no evidence, real or otherwise, denies. No one bothers him about this topic after that.

Adam wants to use this peace at his advantage, but as it turns out, he can’t. He’s been fighting too long, or so it seems like. About a week later, he is falling apart.

For the first time in what feels like decades, he takes a long, very long shower, sitting on the floor, his back against the cold tiles. He can’t see much details on anything without his glasses, but he doesn’t need to see these now. Not that kind of clarity.

Shiro is alive. Shiro made it back. Shiro _is alive_.

He doesn’t know what’s the water and what’s his tears on his face and the floor, only that his crying lasts so long, he barely has the energy to half-walk half-crawl toward his bed once it’s over. He always entertained the possibility, the _hope_ that Shiro never died, but this wish being a truth now is simply too wild to figure out. The circumstances and the outcomes are too difficult to handle. It’s a string of questions again, each its own can of worms. Adam can’t even list them all in his head right now.

Curled on his bed, above the blanket, he’s freezing but it’s the only thing that makes him trust that he’s still alive. His bones are too heavy. His flesh is light and frail. Everything feels like ghosts poking holes straight into his heart, and oh, does Adam bleed out, tears and fears and wishes spilling out of him for everything to stop until it makes sense again, until he doesn’t have to fight.

He falls asleep at some point, not early enough to feel rested by the time his alarm goes off and he has to get prepared to teach a class. He is completely disoriented and, through what seems like too much effort, calls the nurse station to declares himself sick and request a couple of days off. He’s never done it in the years he’s been an officer and sounds weaker than usual, so they don’t question it at all. Maybe they understand it’s not only something physical.

Adam stays immobile on his bed for some time after the call ends. He has so many things to do. Too many wounds to process. He doesn’t know if he can hold on.

 

* * *

 

 

He holds on. It pays.

Almost a year after Shiro’s crash and while things at the Garrison were starting to become all too quiet for everyone’s taste, it’s Samuel Holt who returns, very much alive himself and aboard a ship full of alien arsenal. It’s a rough fight of lies and truths at first and it takes a few days for the government and most officers to believe the crazy tale the professor spins, but soon enough, thanks to the overwhelming amount of evidence the ship and video logs bear, detractors are ignored.

It is decided that a worldwide panic isn’t worth keeping the secret of a possible war for a bit longer. People around the world still tend to live nearby solid anti-war shelters since the last global blow-out happened. It’s not as though the Garrison could protect the entire planet anyway, even if they tried. Besides, Sam Holt is positive that only the Garrison has resources that could be attractive to enemy Galras, starting with the ship he came in and the plans he carries to create another one — a _very_ strong one, something complex enough that when Sam Holt explains what it can do and how, Iverson actually passes out.

Adam is mostly absent from all of this, mentally and physically. Although this year has been steadily more fulfilling, and he’s made some serious progress regarding his mental health and piloting skills, he suspects that involving himself too much at such an early stage of something he had been praying for for years could only lead to the curse coming back. He doesn’t want to jinx it. He only wants to see Shiro, and if what Holt says is true (just like everything else he said), then it doesn’t depend on them. Shiro will have to come here. There’s nothing left to do but wait.

Still, he is rewarded. His patience and faith pay out.

It takes two weeks after Sam Holt arrives at the Garrison for things to settle down and for the students, Adam notes, to catch up on the fact that humans made direct contact with _several_ alien races, letting the theories run wild. AT the same time, some officers, including Adam, are assigned extra duties and relieved from a few others, in order to optimise the Garrison’s resources and alien technology replication. Just like this, Earth officially starts to prepare for a space war.

At the end of yet another meeting detailing their new affectations for the time being, Sam Holt calls Adam from behind the conference desk, asking him to come closer. Adam is hesitant at first, since he has so many questions and they all have so little time, but he complies soon and happily enough.

They exchange generic greetings, after which Adam nervously asks: “How is he? How’s Takashi?”

He feels silly not to ask the man how his children are doing, since they’re both out there as well. Luckily for him, though, Sam Holts is a very kind man, who smiles at him and answers:

“He’s a _hero_. All things considered, he’s doing okay… fighting a war. The five of them miss Earth.” He marks a pause, taking something out the front left pocket of his pants. “They recorded video messages for their respective families and trusted me with it before I left.” He presents Adam with an electronic key. “This one is for you. From Shiro.”

Adam doesn’t immediately react. He doesn’t know how. He stays here, like rooted to the floor under his feet, incapable of moving a limb while his brain and his heart are racing, racing, racing.

Sam Holt seems to understand this. He reaches at the helm of the pocket on the front of Adam’s jacket, where he drops the video log. It feels heavier than it looks, something Adam thinks is the right level of ironic.

Holt pats his shoulders. “You should watch it, son.”

“Did you?”

“No — it’s for _you_.”

Adam wishes Holt would have been more curious and could help. He is too scared to watch it and could use a content warning. He doesn’t remember the journey back to his bedroom, but when he arrives there, he takes his jacket off and leaves it on the floor, pretending not to see it for hours.

When he finally finds the courage to pick it up and take the key from the pocket, he still has no idea whether he wants to watch it or not. Whether he _should_ watch it or not. He asks himself too many questions, most of which are distressing enough that he has to stop himself from thinking altogether at some point. By the time he must get some rest, he still hasn’t reached a decision.

For more than a week, he sleeps with the key standing on his bedside table, where he can see it. When he fails to focus his weak eyesight on its form, he looks a bit further up, further away, so he can see the plants on his desk. He often forgets about the plants, forgets that they’re _actively_ here. They’ve just always been here since the Kerberos mission started, and Adam has kept them alive by automatism. It’s not a conscious thing. They’re still Shiro’s, in a way. Maybe they belong with him.

One morning, before he leaves, Adam digs a hole in the soil between two of the plants. There, he buries the key. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to retrieve it. He doesn’t think it’s important — it’s just a video. He doesn’t think it’s the same.

What he wants is to _hold_ Shiro and to tell him: “Welcome home.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the first alien ships come to fight as predicted, two years later, the Garrison is somewhat prepared. Although technically overpowered, they manage to chase away the invaders by outnumbering them and using some Altean weaponry. Still, a lot of people are lost. In the turmoil and before even finding the time to grieve, Adam is ranked up and placed in command of a unit charged with protecting important labs and, occasionally, the construction site of the Earth’s first Altean ship. Fights are occasional, but often deadly. No one finds time to relax.

Because of this and since the communication chain is now in shambles and even more limited than before, Adam is not in the briefing room when the Voltron team finally confirms that they’ve received Earth’s distress message and have already started their journey back to the Garrison, a year after the first fight. Since there’s no telling when the paladins will land, it is decided that the news will only be shared among the highest-ranking officials. Adam, although one step below the cut, still somehow makes the informed list.

He suspects someone on the board wants him to know that Shiro and Keith will soon be coming back. He suspects it’s Sam Holt. He doesn’t know how to feel — about _anything_ — but the attacks against Earth suddenly multiply, so he doesn’t get a chance to reflect on any of his doubts, nor to thank the person he thinks is responsible for this new spark of hope he holds onto with unbound greed.

 

* * *

 

 

He can tell that he’s lost a lot of blood during this fight, and yet, somehow, he’s still alive.

Soldiers with minimal injuries are shouting and running around, checking on and helping others who, like Adam, are on the ground and bleeding out. The unit, although victorious, took quite the toll. Most of them didn’t or won’t make it this time.

The sand under Adam’s head is itchy and lukewarm. It’s all he can register beside the pounding in his veins. It’s almost sunset and in the sky, on his left, something is glowing. Adam follows the silhouette as it moves in every direction, always closer to the ground, attacking new enemy ships. It’s hard to focus on these things, especially in his present physical state, but the man tries, tries, _tries_ until it hits him.

It’s Voltron.

It’s _Shiro_.

Adam can’t help but smile and cry.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to fix S7...

There are beeping sounds around him, busy motions, a lot of voices too. Adam doesn’t even find the energy to stop pretending he’s still asleep, He’s woken up in this room several times since the war started, so he doesn’t even need to open his eyes to know he was safely brought back to the Garrison. He’s feelings stiff but his whole body also hurts. He’s pretty sure his right leg is the most wounded part of this mess, although his left elbow is a close second guess. He tries the stretch a little, a bad idea that ends up with him groaning in pain.

“Welcome back,” he hears a voice — Iverson — say, on his left. "That was quite the fight."

“Yeah.”

There’s some rumble around him, and the next voices he hears are of medics who want to check that he is doing as fine as can be. Adam resists a bit at first, but there’s no escaping them anyway, so he complies soon enough. His right leg is partially trapped in a cast, as is his left elbow. His midriff, which he believed more or less okay so far, hurts enough for him to let out a strangled scream. He can’t remember that wound. Or maybe he can? Maybe. _Wait_. He _can_.

His headache gets more painful when he sits up, too. He feels nauseated. He tries to think back to everything that went down between the first explosions of the day (that day? Days ago?) and his black-out, but a lot of it is void. He isn’t too sure what he should be doing now, but maybe his head was slammed a bit too hard, for he can’t really focus or concentrate on anything. He tries to push through it a little; when he fails, he decides to let it go for now. Not his first rodeo. He only hopes no brain injury is involved, but according to the medics, his balance should be back to normal in a couple of weeks. ‘ _Be careful_ ’ is all he’s instructed, which as usual will be hard in his line of work. He’ll try anyway.

Iverson waits until the doctors are almost done to tell him: “When you’ll be good to go, I’ll escort you to the command room. There’s someone there you’ll want to see.” When he receives a curious look in response, he smiles and adds: “Voltron is here.”

Adam’s heart races so fast, the medics enter a brief state of panic. It’s not that there’s only one person he wants to see, not now that he wonders which members of his unit he will have to mourn this time, but he has no idea how to handle the news at all. He feels very light-headed. He is forced back against the mattress and the cushion and walked through some breathing exercises, but it feels like everything is going too fast and Adam is so scared and everything is drowning in the mist inside his mind.

He can feel the pinch of a sedative before he blacks out again, kind of grateful for that one.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes again, not a lot of time must have passed; after all, Iverson is still here. He must have better things to do.

“Gave us a little scare,” he grumbles. “I guess you missed him much. I get that.”

For all his rough manners, Iverson has always carried a soft side. It used to be well-hidden; the war unearthed it over time.

Now knowing that Shiro is here, Adam has no idea what to do. He played and replayed this scenario a million different ways in his head, these past four years, without finding one that would bring him true closure. He just wants to tell the man that he is sorry, that he’ll do better, that he’ll stay away if that’s what Shiro wants. He wants to tell him he’s in awe. He wants to show him the plants are thriving, even now, ready for Shiro to get them back. He wants Shiro to _be okay_.

He is terrified and in pain. He figures he should be happy instead of whatever it is that is brewing in his chest, but it’s become so difficult to be happy, these days, he doesn’t know if what he feels now could be called this. Fear and hurt are more familiar.

When the medics set out to prepare clothes and a private bathroom for him, he turns to Iverson.

“How is he?” he asks. ( _Pleads_.)

Iverson smirks. “Well… He’s _interesting_. Same old, some new. He stopped by to see you, earlier. Kissed your forehead.”

Adam chuckles. He wants to cry.

He still loves Shiro so much.

“You missed quite the show,” Iverson muses.

“Did I?”

“I’ll fill you in later. You’re _two whole weeks_ behind. Voltron got rid of the Galras. We have other problems now, but… it’s calmer.” A pause, then: “Shiro co-piloted the Atlas.”

Adam feels like laughing and shutting himself off at the same time. He’s happy, he’s scared, he’s proud of Shiro, he finds it hilarious that most pilots here tried to co-operate the ship for months when of course, Shiro does it in two weeks. He can’t believe the war is over. He’s not sure he remembers the times before the war that well. He’s so content with what’s happening right now that a mean voice in his head is whispering: ‘ _the soft things won’t last_.’

He shuts it up. He tries. He _shuts it up._

Before a medic transfers Adam to a floating medical chair to take him to a private room to do some washing and change into proper clothes, Iverson comes near and begins to say: “Listen, about Shiro, we ran tests—”

“Please don’t,” Adam cuts in. “I don’t… I can’t. Not now.”

Iverson frowns, but backs off. The medic helps Adam in the room, asking a hundred questions the young man barely registers. He is declared good to go for now, on the conditions that he stays on the chair for six weeks or at least until his arm can carry him on crutches, that he goes back to rest soon, and that someone watches over him constantly for the next few days, since they don’t exactly know the extent of his concussion. Adam vaguely agrees with these rules, before Iverson leads him away.

 

* * *

 

 

When they arrive in vicinity of the command room, Adam falls prey to an anxiety wave so invasive, he has trouble breathing. He stops in his tracks, mere meters from the open door. He’s still far from having clarity — of sight, of his feelings. He prepared for this day so much but now that it is here, it’s like he never wanted it to happen. He doesn’t _know_.

Iverson is giving him a pep talk, his voice hushed, nothing that really makes sense to Adam. The young man feels light headed again. Is it him? Is it the wound? What if Shiro hates him? He could. Maybe he should. Adam would be fine with that.

But what if Shiro doesn’t recognise him? It’s one of his recurring nightmares, an all too vivid one. He doesn’t care if Shiro moved on, it’s fine, everything is fine as long as Shiro is alive, however Adam is certain that a part of his heart will most likely stop beating forever if Shiro doesn’t remember him.

(He has no reason to believe Shiro wouldn’t remember him, but he believes it anyway. He’s scared. He’s exhausted. He has a concussion.)

“Adam?”

He doesn’t quite place the voice coming from a bit further down the hallway, although it’s somewhat familiar. He raises his head, and even then, it takes him a handful of seconds to recognise Keith. _Heavens_ — that kid grew. It’s weird to see. He looks happy that Adam is here, if anything, so there is that.

“Keith,” he whispers. “Hi.”

Keith offers him a soft smile. “You’re finally awake. It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Adam holds out his valid hand for Keith to shake. It looks wobbly, but he figures: ‘ _it’s alright_.’ “Guess you’re not a kid anymore now.”

Keith snorts, shakes Adam’s hand, then replies: “Yeah, it’s… it’s complicated.”

Adam doesn’t stop to think about what can be complicated looking like one has aged four years after indeed being gone for four years. Maybe he doesn’t have all the details. It’s fine.

A weird creature suddenly appears behind Keith, so quickly and with blue colours so bright, Adam believes at first that it’s just an hallucination born from his concussion. But when Keith pets the creature and it then goes to ask for more pets from Iverson, Adam realises that this is real. This is a thing. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“This is my space wolf, Cosmo.” Keith explains. “He can teleport.”

Adam nods, which takes a lot of effort, so he makes a mental note not to do it again for quit some time. His heart is still pounding too loud, tears stuck between his lungs in his throat. He doesn’t know when they will come. He fears he could drown on the spot.

“I found my mom out there,” Keith suddenly says. “She was never on Earth — nor _from_ it.” He seems very relaxed. “But she’s here now.”

“That’s…” _Unexpected. A lot to take in. Good for Keith, big time._ “That’s amazing, Keith. I’m glad you found her.” Keith nods, smiling. They both fall silent, for a few seconds, until Adam groans as he realises: “Sorry, I forgot… I should thank you. You saved Earth.”

“Only because you people here sacrificed yourselves and held on for so long. You resisted the invasion for years, no matter the costs. We wouldn’t have done it without you.”

“I don’t think—"

“Adam?”

 _That_ voice, Adam recognises. It turns his heart into stacked paper cranes and his anxiety rises again in shock. He’s excited. He’s hopeful. He’s scared. He cannot believe Shiro’s face and eyes are even more beautiful than he remembered it was. The scar is new. It’s perfectly fine. The man’s smile is so soft.

“Thank goodness,” he sighs, crossing the threshold and coming quite close to Adam. “Hi.”

Iverson hums, mutters: “Well, you two don’t need us,” and motions for a confused Keith and a playful Cosmo to follow him into the command room. This time, they close the door.

Adam and Shiro are thus left alone in the hallway. It’s not the most private place, but it’s not a busy part of the base right now. They don’t find words to tell each other at first. Adam has a thousand things he wants to say, but he feels strangled. He doesn’t want to screw this up. He prays for the conversation to flow. He wants to _move on_.

Shiro invites him to move toward an alcove further down the hallway, where there is space for Adam’s medical chair and sofas for Shiro to sit on. As soon as they settle there, Shiro takes off his jacket to careful reveal his new artificial arm. He then sits in silence in front of Adam, clearly worried about his reaction, Adam tries to keep it neutral, but in truth, what he sees in front of him is the man he’s always been so attracted too, even today. Shiro has white hair now — a touch of sweet irony. His muscles developed further since they last saw each other. The floating forearm is weird, but it doesn’t take away any of the man’s charm. Adam is as smitten as ever. It makes him sad, although he doesn’t know why. He can’t process emotions well today.

Still, in the silence, their eyes on the same level, things become instantly easier for him. He doesn’t know why.

“I have a concussion,” he states — and maybe _this_ is why. He feels stupid.

Shiro smiles sympathetically, a bit crooked on one side. “I was told,” he replies. “How bad?”

“Worse.” Adam smiles, hoping to appear reassuring. He is in pain, yes, but it’s not unsurmountable. He doesn’t want Shiro to worry. “I have meds in my room. We get hurt a _lot_ , lately, although I guess it is over now.”

It’s still hard to gauge how much praise is enough and how much is too much for and in presence of Shiro. Adam isn’t sure about what he should say. In the end, he chooses a simple: “Thank you.”

The smile, faint blush, and nod he receives in reply tells him it was the right decision.

Quietly, Shiro tells him: “I never thought I’d make it back.”

“I hoped you would,” Adam confesses. “It was a rollercoaster. It’s been five years now.”

“Yes. Well, only a bit more than two for me, given how time worked out where we were, but…”

This explains Keith’s answer, or why Shiro doesn’t seem to have aged as much as he was gone. Adam isn’t entirely sure how to feel. He thinks the predominant emotion is that he is happy for Shiro, because five years was such a long time, two years sound like a dream right now. He’s relieved that Shiro only evolved in intergalactic battlefields for two years only — and that’s already too much.

Adam starts thinking negatively again. Now doesn’t seem like the time; he has so much to tell Shiro, so many hints of love to disseminate, so many kind words after the harsh ones. He focuses on Shiro’s arm to help him start this journey.

“How _tame_ ,” he jokes, before he notices that Shiro’s med watch isn’t attached to it. Carefully, he holds out his hand and, when Shiro brings his human arm closer, pushes back the sleeve of his uniform a little. Still no watch. Adam doesn’t know if it’s a good or a bad sign. “Does the new arm also supply your treatment?” he asks.

Shiro blinks, a bit confused. “My treatm— _no_. No, I don’t…” He searches for his words for a bit while Adam gets quite confused. Ultimately, the paladin sighs, smiles slyly, and says: “It’s a long story, _very_ long, but this body is… let’s say, it’s new. Some _scratches_.” He gestures at the arm. His smile only grows wider. “I guess the universe found a cure for me after all, although in my opinion it is a bit of an overkill.”

Adam could cry. He does. It’s just a few tears but he is so overwhelmed by the news. He guesses that’s what Iverson wanted to tell him, back in the bay, and he’s somehow even more satisfied with his decision not to have let the man talk. It was Shiro’s story to tell. It’s Shiro’s right to see how happy people are for him. It’s Shiro’s wish granted.

“It’s wonderful,” Adam whispers.

Shiro looks so _happy_. “Yes.” And then, teasing a little: “I don’t have tissues with me, I’m sorry.”

That flips a tiny switch in Adam. The _apologies_. He has no time to process that Shiro is not sick anymore — and this is unfair, they’ve never wanted something more than more years and more health and existing at the same time — because he feels weak from his broken bones and his concussion, which he knows means he’ll have to retreat to his room soon.

He isn’t sure what he’ll say. He says it anyway.

“No, I… _I_ am sorry. For what I said before you left for Kerberos, it was…”

Shiro’s face falls. He looks worried now, although the arch of his brow could maybe mean anger. Adam forgot small details like these, to his dismay. He hates that he forgot. He still has to make do.

“It was _bad_. I’m very sorry, Shiro, I should’ve…”

“Adam,” Shiro cuts in, his tone a bit alarmed and the right amount of sad. “Look, I don’t regret going to Kerberos, considering what happened since; but I understand now where you were coming from back then. I understood it then too, of course, but it just… I was angry. I really wanted to go on this mission. It felt awful to be denied that at first. When you sided with the admiral, I felt unsupported, but I realise you probably felt the same, because of me, regarding your hopes and your fears and aspirations at the time.”

Adam doesn’t know what to answer. He is surprised that Shiro seems to have thought about it this much and be so open about it. He is _so relieved_ this is happening. He wants to answer, only the words are stuck in his throat. He hears ‘ _back then_ ’ and ‘ _at the time_ ’ and wonders what they could have now. If there could be a ‘ _now_ ’. Looking more unsure, Shiro continues:

“Anyway, your reasons weren’t unfounded. You had legitimate concerns, and you wanted to be with me while I still had some time. You were always there for me, and I guess… I guess it _burnt you out_. You were with me in the hospital every single time, you kept yourself informed of anything that could help, you were the best co-pilot, you saw me take dangerous paths time and time again… I know you kept saying it was ‘ _normal_ ’ because we were boyfriends, and it probably was, but that doesn’t mean it was any less stressful for you, and I didn’t always see that. So, I’m sorry too. I really am.”

Adam is shaking. “Don’t be,” he tells him. “You were a good man. You _are_ a good man. I _was_ going through a massive burnout, in the months before your departure. It’s true. It got worse after, but at that time, everything was too much, sometimes. I couldn’t keep up with the Garrison, your illness, and my own problems at the same time. It felt unbalanced most days and, after a few years, it would constantly made me question and doubt my value as a person.”

When Adam pauses to find the rest of his words, Shiro nods in understanding. He looks sad, perhaps resigned. Adam is resigned too, albeit trying to stay hopeful. He wants this to work. Maybe Shiro is misunderstanding him?

“Still,” he goes on, “I could have supported you. It’s not like I could have stopped you anyway, and I knew this. You’re _stubborn_. You wanted to fly as far as possible, and nothing else was _that_ far — at the time anyway. We could have talked it through more calmly, I guess. But we didn’t.”

“Indeed not.” Shiro thinks about it for a minute, then sighs. It’s a _good_ sigh. “Let’s hope it helped us grow.”

Adam hums in agreement. “Yes. Look, it doesn’t matter now anyway. All of this — it was years ago. We can’t change it. You _are alive_ , and that’s what matters now. Also, you’re cured… however _that_ happened. And you flew the Atlas.”

Shiro beams at him again. “Not _alone_. One day, maybe. One can hope.”

“Only you.”

Shiro blushes, and Adam trembles. He loves Shiro so much. He admires him so much. He feels like he’s talking to his best friend and that’s because he _is_. He’s never felt more at home in years. He doesn’t know how to tell Shiro this.

"I took care of your plants," he tries.

"I saw that," Shiro replies, chuckling. "And after all this time, I'm impressed and grateful. Thank you."

"You're welcome." A pause, then: “I like the hair,” he offers. “Not a fan of the arm, though. It scares me.”

Shiro snorts. “Come _on_ …”

He loses himself in thoughts for a bit, before looking uncertain again. Adam watches carefully. To is surprise, Shiro gets up briefly so he can come kneel in front of Adam’s chair.

He’s very close. He’s not _close enough_.

He lets his alien forearm hover above Adam’s lap, letting the colours glow. He seems hesitant again, the blush back on his cheeks. Softly, he asks: “Your hand?”; and when Adam automatically complies and brings his right hand underneath the device, Shiro looks at him straight in the eye, his expression grateful. “Thanks,” he whispers. “Look.”

He turns on some more of the arm’s options, that make the touch warm and more parts of it glow. It’s still a bit scary, but more and more fascinating. Adam watches it with intent. The touch on his hand is light and caring. He could get used to it.

He doesn’t know exactly when he starts to drift away, but he suspects he knows why and that’s because of the throbbing headache he’s developing, of the growing pain in his broken leg, or maybe anxiety creeping above it all and making it much worse. Anyway, he zones out. He doesn’t want to. Shiro’s voice fails to reach him consciously for a while, but slowly, Adam comes back to reality.

“Adam?” Shiro calls, no holding his valid hand with both of his. “Are you alright?”

Adam shrugs. “I will be. The concussion.” He knows it’s not the right explanation. He doesn’t know why he hides it from Shiro, when Shiro would understand. He’ll understand. “The war.”

(Of course he does) “The war,” he repeats, with a gravitas that says: ‘ _I know_ ’. “New developments came up. Earth was freed but… well, still some mysteries to be solved. Another potential attack. We remain cautious.”

“As we should.”

There’s a silence after that. Adam doesn’t know what to do. He wants to go to his room, grab meds, get to bed, and dive in the land of slumber. He doesn’t know how the bed will feel now that he knows that Shiro is so close, now that he’s seen him again, now that he touched him again. He wants to ask Shiro what was on the video file he never found the courage to watch. He wants to kiss Shiro and to never, ever let go.

“I moved back into the room,” Shiro says, as if on cue. He looks a bit uncomfortable. “Well, I suppose it’s _your_ room now. I can leave.”

“Can you stay?”

Adam doesn’t know where that came from. His mind is foggy. His heart is full. His chest is too heavy. He cannot believe Shiro would move back to the room and not stay. It would be so _cruel_ , from either or both of them. This isn’t who they were; this can’t be who they are.

Shiro is quick to answer, his smile sweet, his expression relieved: “I can stay.”

Adam starts to cry. He is exhausted, but happy. He’s not quite sure what will happen from now on, but Shiro is here, and that might be enough. Shiro is alive. Shiro is wiping away tears from his eyes, before he leans forward and starts to help Adam with his. He is _so close_. Adam decides not to be too cautious or scared anymore. He grips the back of Shiro’s head, and the man follows the motion willingly, his smile growing wider again.

Adam feels it once more — the _spark_. Static electricity, right where their lips touch. It hurts a little, but It's the sweetest pain. It’s an anchor.

It’s home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ღ


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